Most of my life I have felt like I was on the inside, looking out. Looking out at what the rest of the world was feeling, what they were seeing, what they were experiencing. I rarely felt things the same way others did, or at least not on the same time. I rarely felt the level of joy that other people seemed to feel. I rarely had the same passion at my disposal that other people had. I absolutely sucked at small talk. (I still do.) .
Looking back, I suspect I was in some state of depression most of my life, certainly through most of my adulthood, likely some in college, perhaps even as a child. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t realize it until l was around fifty. By then, my whole life had crashed around me, and I went to get help. But before then, I never saw it. 
Depression, I have learned, is very sneaky. A lot of times it doesn’t show up in the way it is portrayed in our culture. I was rarely “blue”. I got things done. In fact, I was really, really productive. I laughed. I had relationships. People have told me that I made it look easy. 

That is due to my mom, I think. She had a “never let ’em see you sweat” attitude to life. “People don’t need to know your struggles>” is a phrase that rings in my head even today, nearly two years after her death. And people rare did see her sweat, despite a life as full of struggle as anyone else’s. Ask people about my mom and they will talk about her graciousness, her poise, her kindness. 

None of that was fake, but none of it was as easy as it appeared on the surface. She worked hard, and often with deep conflict ion, to get through her life. That was part of her magic, that she could live that graciously, despite all it took for her to do so. 

The older I get, the more I realize how that way of thinking became my own. In fact, it pretty much became all of my siblings way of living. 

When my life fell apart, I did something that I needed to do for myself. I needed to understand why, and how long things had been unraveling. I needed to see what others saw. So for nearly a year I visited with friends, people from church, past pastors and confidants. I didn’t tell them anything. “Tell me,” I simply said “What you saw when you saw me and my marriage.” 

I was surprised at the answers. It was eye opening, both in terms of what people did see, and what they did not. I appeared to be fine… Until I wasn’t. I never felt like I was hiding things. But I am sure my mom’s refrain, “People don’t need to know your struggles.” was ringing in my head somewhere. 

I realized too, how my father’s anger played into not talking about my emotions. He had trouble with emotions too. Now I realize that like me, he was slow to process them. Unlike me, that made him angry, and he didn’t want to hear about feelings or emotions. I was blasted for mine on a regular basis. 

And that made it hard for me to talk about them. From time to time in my life, I have had a person to had great patience with me as I worked out feelings in my head. But most people really don’t want to hear our struggles. We have a societal ritual. You ask “How are you.” I answer “Fine”.  

I worked through most of that. I came to a place, with a lot of help, where I could finally talk through and find my emotions. I came to a place where I could manage my depression pretty well. And, when I have a rough day, few people notice. (Thanks mom!).  I learned to live within the limitations of my slow emotional processing, and even to make it work for me.

 Most  people dont’ want to know my struggles. Mom was actually right about that.   They don’t need or want to know that each and every morning I wake up, I have to force myself to get out of bed. Not just tiredness or laziness, it’s the depression lying to me that there’s no reason to get going, that no one will notice or care if I don’t.  They never see the battle. 

Or, that I win it each morning. And that first victory sets me up to win the next few victories. Why do I meditate, pray, and write poetry every morning?  There’s no virtue in it. It doesn’t make me a morning person. No, I do it because that victory of going to God and asking for help, that victory of stilling my mind, that victory of letting my emotion run through me and turning it into words, into poems, sets me and my wayaward mind on the right path for the day.  

It’s my “big mo” And most days it lasts me all day long. I run on the inertia of that string of victories. 

I still feel on the inside looking out. Sixty years of living there have taught me how to manage that too. I surround myself with extroverts, and their energy is contagious.  I have learned it’s OK to be quiet, to be a watcher, to be the introvert I am. I have learned that it’s OK to silently fight my battles, as long as I have a couple of people with the patience to listen, who understand that yes, I struggle, but no, they don’t have to fix it.  Just love me through it. 

No, most people don’t want or need to know. But some do. Some do, a lot.

And so, I have learned, it is OK to share in in a bigger sense. To talk about it when it’s an appropriate time to do so.  To write about it. Not everyone will listen. A lot won’t care. But some will. 

Because, I have learned – most of us who struggle, with depression, with PTSD, with remnants of child abuse, or whatever the struggle we have, tend to do it alone. We tend to think the struggle is ours alone. And in that isolation, we weaken. Slowly. Steadily. And we end up a mess. We collapse. We recluse. We screw up relationships. 

And that is so self destructive. We need each other. We need to know we are not alone. We need to know others are fighting the same battles, sometimes winning, sometimes losing, but still, battling. Courage is found in others around us. Strength is found in others around us.

It’s not whining. It’s not complaining. It’s not …… Pick your negative. It’s selective sharing that can help people. You have no idea how many people, as a result of my simply saying “I fight depression” have ended up having long talks with me, and ending up getting help. 

They are still fighting their battles, but they are no longer fighting them alone. 

Some feel like admitting their struggles is a bad thing. That it makes them somehow, weak. I say it’s just the opposite. Admitting our weakness and getting help and battling the demons, with help, makes us stronger. Isolation makes us weaker. 

Let me repeat that: Isolation makes us weaker. 

That is not how we tend to think when we are in the midst of our struggles. But it is the truth. 

And the truth, my friends, will set you free. 

The battles won’t end. The struggles will not be over.  But when we take on allies. When we. call on our God and when we find those who have traveled the same journey; when we share our truth and march into the fray together… We win.  

Be well. Travel wisely,

Tom